


Mr. Lonely

by Shockey13



Category: Homeland
Genre: Affairs, Depression, F/M, Loneliness, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vodka, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3649725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shockey13/pseuds/Shockey13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrie and Quinn reunite after two and a half years. With two very different lifestyles, they hardly have anything in common anymore, but they just can't let it go. Written for the prompt two and a half years later from 'koalathebear'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why'd you have to go?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koalathebear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/gifts).



 

 

 

 

He catalogs his steps now, modifying to what's necessary, adapting. His breath becomes visible while reaching the streets off the steps of the busy subway. The sense of being alive now as the cold breeze hits his skin, it's a rarity. Here for duty, all on pause for now until dawn hits. The moments that were torture.

He's only carrying what's needed; his gun tightly packed in it's case, a few pairs of clothing, his tooth brush. It's all disposable, easily replaceable. He spent his whole summer travelling through Europe, and got paid to do it, the American dream.

With the night still young, families crowd the street on this Friday night. He's not sure the last time he'd seen so many children at once. He tries to pay no attention to things like that, but every once in awhile he does . The curiosity takes a bite and he peeks into the world of innocence.

There are some screaming, others are giggling, all of them oblivious. One is on her father's shoulders, bundled appropriately for the frigid climate, clinging to him as if her life depends on it. He's not sure why, but he's drawn to her. His focus is diminishing as he studies her face from what he can see under her hat. A face he's sure he's seen before. It's when she smiles, he then knows exactly who she is.

OooO

Carrie hurries down the sidewalk after she'd left her phone at the restaurant. They were suppose to wait outside for her, but this is typical. For days Franny had bugged her about the toy store a few blocks away after passing it everyday and she knows they had to be there. He was much weaker when it came down to it, giving into the demands of a three year old. She weaves through everyone when she finally catches a glimpse. The sight of one happy little girl with a new toy, high in the air in plain view. She jogs right past him in the dusk.

OooO

The familiar form in front of him stuns his composure. It's her and she was just right beside him not a moment ago. Her shorter blonde hair peeking through her hat, the smile that he barely ever saw. He watches them embrace, not stopping and he doesn't know why he doesn't. Every fiver in his body is shaken, then steady somehow, he breathes. He looks right at her over his shoulder unable to dilute his steely eyes, failing to engage. The only thing he would accomplish would be disruption if he stopped now. He has absolutely no idea of what to say.

OooO

She tilts her head quickly, noticing that he noticed her. Their eyes had met for a second, a flash really, but he was already turning around still walking. The want that was wasted, gone again. She denies the divided concentration when he's far enough away again, it's probably for the best.

OooO

He's slower than usual now. The floodgates are weakened, beginning to trickle, ready to gush at any moment. Something's happening, but It'd always haunted him and this wasn't just a reminder. She's here in the flesh. All the possibilities he'd ever had are a thousand yards behind him and all he'll let himself do is walk into this liquor store to find a way to make it go away.

* * *

Quinn pours the vodka in a glass, throwing in a few ice cubes. He's still thinking of her and how happy she must be, how he should be happy for her. Only jealousy clouds his tainted mind. She committed, he didn't.

When the ice fuses into the drink, he tosses it back without taking a breath. It's useless at this point. Snapping back was going to take a long time and accept that she has beat the addiction that is relentless, bottomless for him. A fresh dose of her climbing back into his forsaken conscience, not as if it was ever gone, just ignored.

OooO

It spirals though her mind all night pulling her apart. The issue that shouldn't be one. She finally makes up her mind. He'd looked at her for a reason, a reason that she wants to know. What was it? She wants to - has to know. The unfinished business hangs heavy and there's nothing wrong with talking. Luckily she knows exactly where he is - where they all went when they came here.

OooO

A sudden view of relief stands below the door frame, the kind he didn't know still existed. They study each other, the guilt manifests them both, measured by the power of their stare. He steps aside unable to do it much longer and she crosses the line that separates them.

His kingdom, his life on a platter in room 409 at the Holiday inn Berlin. Not much of anything at all. The grave that he's refused to leave, he's buried in more than ever. She knows what he's been up to.

She turns on a second light in the room and his eyes flare, all the light he was allowing to be shunned. His head's shaved, bare for his work. He can't even say hi to her.

He can sense her disapproval from now and before. The idea of letting her talk first makes sense. He wants to know where she's at.

"Did you know I was here?" She finally asks, alleging almost.

"No... How's Franny?" He'd wondered, asking the only question he can think of.

"You saw her," she wonders why he cares. "She's good. She loves it here."

"Good... is he good to you?" He throws at her.

"Yes, very," she's kind of pissed that he asked, the nerve, starts to believe he might be jealous.

He takes a seat for a refill, the least hostile company he has at the moment.

"Do you?" He offers a glass.

"No. Thank you." She turns her back to him while he washes it down.

And then it happens. She knew it would. All the things she wanted to say to him disarrayed and scattered. The animosity instantly fills her thoughts.

"You left," she says. "Why!?"

"What?" He denies her interpretation . "I did what I had to do," he's cold, still nursing what's left of his serum.

"Had to? Come on that's bullshit and you know it," she accuses him.

"You did too!" He barks. She's come onto his territory, condemning all he has and won't let it happen. He can't.

"It's not the same thing Quinn!" She's angry, offended that he could even compare the two.

"What do you want Carrie?" He's snappy.

"I want to leave. That's what I want to do," she proclaims.

He panics. It's not what he wants in this second, even if all she's here for is the scolding and the blame, he'll take it. It's something, anything, both better than nothing at all. Her mix he craves that's been voided from his world until now is like water, he has to have it. He has to find a way to keep her here. Now at his feet cornering her, he stops her in her tracks.

"Go home," he tells her, but needing to touch her. He instinctively puts his hands loosely around her arms. "Go home."

The anguish in his voice is overwhelming. Leaving could only make everything worse. "Fuck," she brushes her hand through her hair. She forces herself to sit and focuses on getting the answers that she intended to get in the first place. Because knowing the answers - even if they're unwanted and even if they hurt - are better than none at all. The table that now separates them will have to do.

"What are you doing here Quinn?" She wants to confirm his career first and foremost.

"My specialty," he's truthful.

He's still there, she probably shouldn't have asked, but at least it's sure. Still a puppet for them, a slave to the company. She's not interested in talking to that Quinn right now though.

It's tepid now, easier to look at her in the silence now that she's calm. The longer he does, the more he can remember their last night. His last bit of hope. Her anger that fueled her arrival on this night tempts him into believing that the fault is all his, but he can't say it. That choice he made is all he has left.

"Is it what you wanted Quinn?"

It's rhetorical and he knows it. He refuses to answer.

"Quinn?" She asks again.

She grabs his bottle, taking a sip to ease it all for the both of them, but mostly for her.

"I guess I'll never know, will I?" He's leaves it all up to her, leaving the gaping wound ready for a remedy.

She knows he's still there under the mounds of despair. It was the exact predisposition she held onto for so long. The ignorant poison that she drank, a conviction she deemed terminal. All the shields the company provided for this to be sustained. There's shame in the defeat no matter how often it happens. Every ounce of it was superficial.

"What are you thinking right now Quinn?" She probes.

"What do you want me to say Carrie?"

"I don't know."

"That it all would have worked out? I don't... I'm fine okay?"

'Fine'. It's what he wants, for her to be everything that he's not. To run like hell as far away as she can. Also to tell her that he's going to keep doing what he does, but wants her too. Both wasn't happening. But each moment she stays blesses his space. Not an interrogation, but fucking conversation. Normalcy.

He's been watching her lips as she speaks. The taste of them still lingering on his lips, like it had just happened moments go. They're brighter now, just like the rest of her. Then he remembers that she came here and not the other way around, this was it. Maybe if he shuts up, she'll stay longer. It's working for now.

His lean frame had gotten her attention from the moment she entered, he's likely on a liquid diet. Surprisingly, his appearance is decent with the exception of his bloodshot eyes. She looks at his hands and can recall his strong touch, and the way he made her feel. It courses through her, taking shape. She's not sure what she actually feels now.

There is so much being said, but they're not talking at all. Just a statue of loneliness in front of her, once a monument to her future. It doesn't actually matter what she saying just as long as she's there. She didn't intend on starting an argument. All the questions she's sending his way she can't answer either. Maybe they were never intended to be.

For a full two minutes, he doesn't look away. She wishes he would just say what he wants to so she can be on her way, just come out and tell her that there's nothing there at all, even if it was a lie. But deep down she knows he can't just forget about her, because she knows she hasn't forgotten about him.

"I should get going," she tells him, when the silence becomes exhausted.

"You should." He gets up to walk her to the door.

He opens the door without a word, waiting for what she's about to say. The goodbye does come, just a parting smile from her. He doesn't even realize that he's smiling back.

Somehow in the mesh of stares, all is lost, and the forces pull. Her lips clings to his, limbs touching everywhere, her thighs are in his hands lifting her off the ground, and he's using her back to shut the door. He's waited too long. There's only a blind savage compulsion to feed.

The pain from the impact as she hit the door should hurt, but doesn't exist. Only the ache the between her legs exists. Her heals, his scrapes, there is sure to be evidence of this insanity.

She wedge and pinned, but mobile, now against the wall. Their clothes fly, somehow disappear. When he melts her panties away he immediately settles her on his shaft. Instantly, her arms wrap around his neck and her legs around his waist.

His first thrust is deep, as deep as can. He pulls out far enough so only his head is inside her and plunges again. Over and over he does it again, each stroke filling her completely.

Their breathy words they try to form come out as moans, heavy breaths at best. They're not even sure how long it lasts, only evident when she realizes that she's no longer panting, still feeling the the spasms of his cock inside her, the euphoria starting to subside - as if that were possible. His knees are wobbling, feeling the thick stream dripping down his thighs. He closes his eyes, catches his breath, and falls from her, completely content.

Quinn looks to her for approval, she's still grinning, but starts to collect her clothes right away and heads straight to the bathroom. It's crazy what they'd done, but he won't let himself feel bad about something he's never felt so good about.

At first she freaks; fixes her hair, cleans herself up, checks for marks. She wonders what to say when she gets home. Did she have to? He was so good to her, to her daughter. What was she thinking!?

She exits the bathroom almost looking the same as how she entered, completely polished. He asks what's impossible.

"Will I see you again?"

"Probably not. You'll be gone by Monday."

He smirks, he knows she's probably right. "What if I'm not?"

"I don't know."

The confusion orbits now that she's out here, she's unsure for the first time in a long time.

He sighs. There's nothing left for him to offer. She has so much already.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Busy," she says, grabbing the door for herself this time. "Bye."

"Tuesday then!?" He pleads, holding the door.

She smacks her lips almost through the door, and something in her just won't allow a no. It was already a yes.

"Nine o'clock."

She shuts the door and everything's back the way it was. She'll go home to what she has and he'll still do what he does. But on Tuesday at nine they can have both. He does know that his wait will be much longer, suffering each hour until it comes.


	2. Dream dream dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the everly brothers 'all I have to do is dream'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a decent amount of encouragement, I decided to add to this fic. Thanks for reading

 

* * *

It's 9:02 and he shakes just thinking about her, aches just thinking about touching her. The life he'd taken the day before is far out of his mind. Numbed senses to the world, all of it but her. Her ambiance somehow imbedded into his core. He's been all around the world and has never met a girl that can take the things that she's been through.

He had tried so hard to block her out so that he wouldn't lose his mind. Tried so bad to stop her immeasurable impact, but she's like a bruise that just won't heal. It's his lack of control with her that he both loves and loathes.

He fabricates reasons why she's not here. She's working late? She stopped at the store? Maybe she fell asleep? All a callous defense the swallow the harsh reality that she's not coming at all.

The whiskey tastes worse now that he's sure. Like shards of glass ripping him apart from the inside out. He just might have to vomit to stomach how pathetic this all really was, the way he waits.

Instead he pretends he's a fish and the bottle is his ocean. The only feasible way to block the pain he neglects so much. All the bullshit that he thought was bullshit that he spewed to her, and he's the one that didn't follow through. Her ocean's calm and he's only spoiled it, polluting the waters.

All that's left is the glass he poured for her - though it's a fairly small bottle. Her lips are suppose to be pressed to that glass, smiling while she's telling him what she's been up to. And all he has to do is sit and listen, mostly because he's got nothing to say. He knows how transparent he is to her like when she said yes. It was the yes that put this all to an end.

The minutes pass more and more frequently, and it's well past ten. Sleeping is not even an option because he knows he'll dream of her. Two beautiful eyes, a gorgeous pair of legs, her irresistible back; all the better to lay her down. To have her here all he'll have to dream. It's not enough.

His forehead hits the table as he drowns in his own puddle. This job that's slowly killing him somehow seems like the only escape. Just as the dream takes over, his core is shaken and he wakes.

* * *

 _A_ _few days earlier_

Carrie returned as if nothing happened, because in her mind it didn't. Just closing another chapter in her life that should have never been opened to begin with. It's even takes her awhile to fully remember the first time they met. What a fucking mouthy bastard he was - still is.

She enters the oasis of her fluent life, showering Stefan with kisses. His articulate hands are like blunt tools that guide her to the bed that they share. A guilt flows through her veins as she can help but think about what she'd done. The more they touch, the more she thinks about Quinn.

OooO

All the moments in her life and she'd never though the day would come. She'd been scared and terrified before, but never like that day. Franny's shallow - almost non-existent breaths - brought her to a pit of despair. The life literally being taken from the life who made it from the moon and back and brought her along the way.

It was Stefan who made it all better, who made everything go away. Stefan who saved her baby's life when the darkest hour hit on that night. She wasn't the only one thankful that he was the pediatrician on duty that night.

When everything is serine again he asks about her shoes, knowing for sure she's a runner. What were the odds that both of them favored running at Tiergartens. The thing he notices the most is that her finger is bare. It'd be nice to run with someone else for a change.

At first she couldn't believe that he could possibly want to go out with her; a single mom who was absolutely hysterical in the first few hours that they arrived. He's not even thirty, fresh out of residency, doesn't even look like he has the capability of growing facial hair given how fair he is; she just says no.

It was the follow up appointment that made her change her mind. His isolated eyes spoke and she knew the feeling. How could she forget? Consumed by a job that you love, but feening for a taste of the other side. Except he saves lives, innocent lives. If anyone deserved a little grace, it was Stefan. Everything after just kind of happens.

OooO

Her urgency to shower is overlooked and he follows her. It's one of his rare nights off and they were suppose to go to a trail they've never been to before, then come home and explore each other. So now that everything back to way it was and the water starts to feel warm they step in.

Though he's experienced, he's borderline submissive when it comes to her. This time she surrenders her arms to the tiles so that he can do what he wants. The way the hot droplets drip down her back, slowly running down are memorizing. It's not long before he guides himself in, rolling his hips while he holds onto hers.

Each thrust becomes more powerful, more skilled. One of his arms wraps around her to hold her in place. Their moans are mostly muffled in the rapid stream, but it's not Stefan that she's thinking about, It's Quinn.

When they come, he whispers I love you for the first time. What a slap in the face. Instead of saying it back she draws his mouth in, still unable to get him out of her head. How could things ever be the same?

* * *

His heart races the moment she comes into view, shocked that she was actually here. Now that she's here, he has no idea what's going to happen. Someone so small, yet so disarming.

"Come in."

She steps in seeing the obvious empty bottle on the table, wondering how much of it he's had tonight. Sitting in 'her' seat, she gladly sips the beverage that he provided for her. None of this was going to be easy.

He glances at the clock and she catches him, she can't tell if he's pissed or relieved - likely both. She doesn't feel the need to explain Franny's nebulizer or how the sitter was late. It would only surge his warped opinions.

Quinn settles himself against the counter, keeping his distance. Her disconcerting look is not exactly an invitation. Is this the dream? Is this as close as he could get?

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

She inhales as if it's the last thing she'll ever say to him. "I came here to tell you that this can't happen. It can't," her eyebrows even arch as she tells him.

 _Jesus._ He thinks. _Sounds like something Jessica Brody would say. How domestic did she really get?_

Her eyes dart back and fourth between him and the glass as if he'd just say okay and this would all be over. He folds his strong arms, never changing his position. She can only envision what he could possibly do with them.

"You're still here," he says.

"I know that!" She snaps. It's simple, she should just leave him alone, but can't. He's like an animal that changes his shape whenever she's around

Quinn watches her throat as she gulps the whiskey. What he would to just lay her on the table and take her then and there.

The sound of her voice when she's angry is so thrilling, so alive. He wants to hear it over and over.

"Why don't you hate me?" He's instigating now.

"Fuck you Quinn."

Where was the mercy in this ordeal? Does it have a beginning or an end?

His cock twitches as she bites her bottom lip, letting the pebbles of the murky water settle.

It's hard to look at him, but even worse to not at all. His vulnerability almost endearing. Just fathoming the intensity of his being when the switch flips is stimulating. The only way for this to suffice was for him to be inside of her. Each others kryptonite.

She stands prompting him to get closer, to remove himself from the protection of their distance. All the brainwashing in him, yet right now she knows that she's the one and only thing on his mind. It's the carnal passion in his eyes, the eagerness.

He greedily takes his chance to tangle his tongue with hers, a well received collision. The slick saliva begins to web, twisting in each and every direction. Their clothes come off at a steady pace and he lays her on the couch with his hand behind her head.

With a foolish smile, he drapes her legs over his shoulders as he bends down to taste her sweetness. Twisting and flicking, his mouth positively grinding and his brain positively grinning, all while she's positively groaning. He doesn't bother hushing her powerful cries, they're welcomed.

As she squirms, her hands tighten around the back of his head as he plunges his tongue deeper. For a man who takes so often, he certainly knows how to give. When the tip of his finger grazes her clit she can take it no more, his whole universe is centered around pleasuring her.

"Agh, agh. Yes, yes." She screams.

She comes and he tries to suck her dry, but can't. This wasn't over and neither of them want it to be.

He allows her a few proper breaths, her legs still over his shoulders. Carefully placing his head to the lips of her wetness, he soon dives in sliding in and out even faster than the time before. She can actual feel her back scraping against the leather sofa as they're merged to each other. Wound-up and lost inside himself, it cusps here and now, he's completely letting go.

She gasps as if she had been underwater and just emerged. Wanting so badly to touch him, but can't, so the decibels become louder. He's the only one that can make her completely lose her mind like this.

Already knowing she's going to be sore, she pushes with him in the final seconds completely penetrated, totally immersed. His hips slam at just the right spot and she tightens around him. The spasms begin around his throbbing cock, coming for him once more. He spills his seed into her continuing to fuck her until his knees buckle and he's out of breath, absolute enthrallment.

Collapsing beside her, she molds to his shape, finally able to touch him. She traces her fingers across his chest, studying his skin. Somehow she becomes so comfortable that her eyes shut, her day seized by his touch.

A few hours pass and she wakes nearly forgetting where she is. She was sure to memorize the floor earlier on. The possibility of leaving without being detected seems slim. She blindly slips on her clothes knowing that his eyes were probably open, watching her in the night. What other way could she leave?

He looses the last bit of light as she shuts the door behind her. There's no blame to give, of course she couldn't stay. The only way he could possibly get her to stay is by closing his eyes once more. All he'll have to do is dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, I changed the rating to explicit, because well... it is


	3. Never let go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updating this! Whatever...

* * *

 

 

Quinn sleeps in ignoring all the calls. He never sleeps in. It's just another assignment in another city and one that he'll have to leave for tomorrow. He deserves this sleep. He'll get to it, eventually.

Hours pass and his eyes pry open to a mysterious light. Low and behold, it's the sun. He's made it past the dawn of day. An accomplishment in his book. Now he understood the whole rest in peace thing - but still alive, still existing.  
He stumbles to quench his thirst, for once needing water before his coffee. Replenished and feeling good, he finds a spot on the couch - soaking up the sun. He smiles thinking about her and about what she might be doing right now. Mostly he's wondering if she's thinking about him too. What were the chances of that? Whatever she's doing, he wants to know.

He gets bored just thinking, then decides to look her up and see what he can find. He hacks into various utility companies trying to find her address. Once he has that It'll be easy from there. 'Is this stalking?' he thinks for a moment - likely.

Of course it's the water company that he's able to circumvent - it's never been difficult before. Such an amazing distraction at the moment. These numbers across the screen are where she lives. What better way could he spend the day then to look at her?  
He follows her for the day, each moment passes quicker than usual. It's quite routine in the morning. That man - he still doesn't know his name - arrives just as she leaves with Franny. It's strange to see her with her kid - just so normal, so natural. It's twisted, but he just wants her alone. All of her for himself with no distractions.

Things change up after she drops her off. Some things he expects, and some things not at all. But there's a confidence like he's never seen before. The kind he wishes he had too. It's like he never came back at all. A snapshot of someone he doesn't know, but he can't look away and he wants get closer. It's all a priority now. The fangs sink and refuse to let go.

* * *

A few nights pass and he follows her to a trendy part of town. He hadn't really anticipated this. And she's alone right now - very alone. No Franny in sight - which was quite different from the past couple of days. Exactly what he wants right now.

The only thing he can see are her red stilettos and skinny jeans, and her hat covering her golden locks, shivering in the winter wind. She waits patiently at the door for her turn and he can only imagine what she could be doing by herself at this restaurant. Likely to meet that man - Stefan he had found out was his name. He hadn't been around all day. It'd ruin everything at this moment.

His hand clasps around his mouth as he waits with bated breath. He hasn't even touched his beer with the possibility of him losing her in his sights. Blinking is risky at this point. Even the passing traffic is unsettling. Yet he stays in place, just watching, waiting. His lips are now raw from the slow chew.

Finally, Carrie enters and he can see her smiling and waving. She sits with three other women and removes her trench. Once she sits, he nurses his drink as he watches now that he's out of the danger zone. She's in place.  
They all laugh as it seems she's telling them a story - something funny. These were her friends. She has friends. She has a life.

Her drink arrives at the table - the same kind that he had estimated it would be. It looks like clear liquor with a citrus fruit on the rim. He can't quite see her face, but he knows that she's smiling too.

He'd hardly seen her smile the first two years he knew her. There were the isolated days she did, but it had been mostly diluted by everything else, possibly fake. This isn't fake at all. He finishes his own drink in dyer need of a closer view.

The bar has an ample number of seats available, and he chooses just the right one. Incognito mode takes over immediately, surely his best skill. It's she that he wants at the moment. His unquenched longing for something better, which is practically anything, but she's the best. The landing strip for his never ending flight.

Every time she moves, he feels himself moving to. Even just a slight twitch of his finger or a quick smack of his lips. It's painful knowing that there's not going to be an exchange tonight. Only a view of her life that he chose to miss. Such a wishful thinker with the worst intentions.

The time eclipses and he not even sure how long it's been. Minutes? Hours? Suddenly, like fate, she gets to her feet and he just realizes that his little niche in the world is directly next to the bathroom.

He turns and makes a pitiful attempt at blending in, yet she still doesn't notice him. He really wants her to notice, so he makes her. Nothing can stop him.

"Carrie," he says meekly as she's walking by.

Her eyes widen at his presence, though she's not as surprised as she thought she'd be. She grabs him by the hand, whisking him off to the corner where they can't be seen. Her sudden contact with him leaves it's mark as soon as they touch.

"Quinn! What are you doing here!?" She whispers, but is loud enough to get her point across.

He forces a patient smile, and tries to come up with the right answer.

"I don't know," he says in fear of dissapointing her with anything else.

"You need to leave! They're going to see you," she motions towards the group.

000ooo000

It was difficult at first to meet anyone here or to talk to anyone outside the four walls of work. It was even comfortable, just herself and Franny. The focal point of her world after leaving her old world behind. Her eyes more open as each day passed.

But after meeting Stefan everything else had become easy. Life was easy. Social skills, who knew? She made friends, and kept them. Just more positivity orbiting in her new life here.  
Despite being the youngest doctor on staff, Stefan was quick to become popular with the other physicians. He met their families and so did Carrie. And tonight is girls' night.

000ooo000

"Carrie I-"

"Stop. Not here." She takes out a sheet of paper, writing a few words down. "Saturday morning?"

"Sure."

She could have said 4 am and he would have agreed.

"I'm trusting you with my address Quinn." She says it like she knows he's guilty. The pleasant surprise is that her number's on there too.

"I know."

Sometime during the wait, he had rested his left palm against the wall over her right shoulder, like he's going to be there awhile. It's comfortable just being able to be here, seeing her, knowing that she's safe. He gets lost in the moment, not wanting to let it go.

"Bye Quinn," she attempts to awaken the reality. But she can't stop staring either.

It's subtle, but she slowly begins to move past him.

"I missed you," he turns and says. It's perfectly aligned, he knows that she felt his breath tingle her ear. She does.

* * *

Carrie watches as he pulls up, like he knew exactly where he was going. She can only imagine how many times he'd driven by in the past two days.

"Coffee?" She asks him.

"Sure."

"Not your first time her, is it?," she asks as she pours him a cup.

"No," he tells her, taking a seat. There's really no point in lying.

"Fuck," she cocks a slight smile. "I can't believe you're still here," she sounds slightly annoyed, judgmental even.

"Yeah. My choice," he emphasizes.

The stillness remains for awhile after. Carrie diverts her attention to Franny who's relentlessly scattering her toys all over the next room over. She's at the point where she wants to do everything 'all by herself'.

"Why can't you just..." she starts.

"What?" He hardly moves.

"Talk!"

"About what!?"

It's just sitting there that's safe and content. This way there's no possible way to mess anything up. It'd be even easier if he could guess what's on her mind. To know exactly where she's at without a single word being said.

Franny rushes over, startling Quinn. Carrie immediately shifts her attention.

"Mommy, I broked it," Franny panics, hiding the plastic treasure chest behind her back.

"You broke it," Carrie corrects her.

"I broke it," Franny repeats.

"Let me see it."

Franny hands it over, diligently watching as Carrie attempts to snap the plastic toy back together.  
Quinn watches her struggle and instinctively takes it out of her hands and - like the machine he is - puts it right back together.  
"Who are you?" Franny is curious about Quinn.

"Who? Me?" He looks around looking absolutely foolish.

"Well she's not talking to me," Carrie tells him sarcastically.

"Uh... I'm Peter... um Quinn," he says awkwardly.

"Is it Peter ... or Quinn?" She's adamant.

"Either or," he says.

"What?"

He confuses her. Franny studies this strange man's face who's sitting so comfortably next to her mother.  
The last thing Carrie needs is for Franny to tell Stefan about him. Things were going fine this past week. Though she had thought about him - a lot.

"Call me whatever you want."

Carrie can't help but laugh.

"Okay Peter who-are-you?" Franny's louder this time, maybe thinking he didn't quite hear her.

"Mommy had a different job - when you were little. I used to work with Peter," Carrie intervenes.

"You did!?"

"Mmhmm."

It's so relieving that Franny couldn't remember then, because she still remembers so much. The lonliness and depression had engulf her whole being, and the only way for it to go away was to do what she did. It's cloudy, yet vivid.

And Quinn was there, he was. He instilled so much faith, yet hadn't left any for himself. Quinn never told her what to do, just let her know what she could do. That's what she misses the most, having him as a friend.

"What did you do mommy?"

Carrie gulps, but her patience seems immaculate.

"Lots of stuff," Carrie concludes with a smile. Franny is particularly satisfied with that.

"Okay. I'm going to go play again," Franny dismisses herself.

"She's like you," he says as soon as Franny leaves the room.

"I know."

Carrie waits for him to say something else, all the things she knows are hovering in his mind. But he's as silent as he's over been. The conflict of what he's been doing is tightly wound and it shows on the outside. He's a bundle of nerves waiting for something to happen instead of making something happen. It's time to break the barrier.

"Honestly Quinn, do you see yourself doing this everyday?"

"I don't know," he's honest, taking a deep breath at the end. She's throwing stones at his glass house.

"What do you see then?"

"I'm trying to figure that out," he says with desperation in his voice.

"Yeah," she turns away, looking at her feet. "Well I have it all figured out... and you don't," she slightly chokes at the end.

"So this is it? This is what you want?" He's more calm than she expected.

Carrie looks him straight in the eyes, letting him know she means it.  
"Yeah," she nods. "As long as you're there, no."

The conviction is finally out, floating like the smoke after a bomb goes off. It wasn't a game or a point, but a deal breaker. She's leaving no room for compromise. All or nothing.

He's lost and bewildered with her stance, especially with what he's witnessed.

"I think I can make you happy," he says sliding his hand down her leg.

Her eyes follow his movements for only a moment. He's still not understanding even as she pushes his hand away.

"As long as you're there, I don't want to see you. I can't."

His breath is heavy, mind scrabbling to make it right, arranging the words in his head, but he can't.

"I'll leave," he pleads.

"No you won't Quinn," she fires back.

"Please," he lightly grabs her face forcing her to look at him.

"Quinn!?" She's nervous now knowing that his emotions have quickly shifted.

"Carrie, just listen to me," his hands move to her shoulders, holding on tight.

"You don't have anything to say! Let go!"

"No!" He screams. He can't if this is the last time they'll touch.

"Let the fuck go!" She screams.

Franny easily identifies the conflict and emerges at the edge of the room. Quinn releases, terrified at what he's done.

"Okay momma?" Franny asks.

"Fine baby. Peter was asking about your bunny," she assures her. "Can you go get your bunny?"

"In my toy box?"

"Yes. Go get it."

"Why?"

"Franny go get it!"

Carrie waits as she finally agrees, ready to end this.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He backs away. The hysteria is too overwhelming even for himself. Redemption now is key.

"Quinn you need to get the fuck out of my house!" Carrie demands.

None of this has gone by plan. There never was one. Only one thing left to keep this alive. The hook, line, and sinker. Not that it would help in this moment, none the less vital.

Their faces are closer than they've been all day, locked with the same expression of confusion. His last hope awaits in the words yet to be said. Leaning in closer he finally releases them, almost whispering.

"I saw you with the Station Chief Carrie."

She huffs louder than before, never as angry with him as she is right here right now. They both know he's not going away anytime soon. For the time being, he leaves before she can even say another word.


End file.
